


I Can't Think

by coolasdicks



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Depression, M/M, RBD, Self-Harm, will have sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Fill:</p><p>"ahot6 prompt? Michael used to cut himself when he was in his teens and it got to the point where he tried to take his own life but he survived it and there are times where he has depressive episodes and he always relapses but he usually recovers from them before anyone notices and then he has a really long one, and thinks that the guys are pushing him away and dont want him anymore and starts cutting again he tries to take his own life again but they find him in time and take him to the hospital"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will have sequel soon!

Creepily enough, it was the fans that were the first to identify his symptoms.

_Did Michael even talk this Let’s Play?_

_A surprising lack of yelling in this one_

_Was Michael in the video? I thought I heard his voice a few times, but I’m not sure_

_Really low energy_

Michael hadn’t even noticed his sudden gloominess, but as he scrolled further and further down the YouTube comments, his stomach continued to plummet until he felt he could no longer bear to read the words on the screen in front of him. It was almost like he was experiencing a panic attack as he wiped sweaty palms on his legs and exited out of the page, heart hammering in his chest. He took a few deep breathes through his nose, glancing to his coworkers to see if they’d noticed his momentary freak-out, but all was well; no one had even looked his direction.

He opened Final Cut Pro, but didn’t intend to get any work done as he allowed his thoughts to swallow him, zoning out as he stared at a blank file. He went through his mental list, confused and angry that he’d been so inattentive to his own condition. To be fair, he’d yet to fall to another depressive episode since he entered a relationship with his fellow AH members. Their cheering him on and constant support had held the attacks at bay, but apparently the rich waves of anxiety and suicidal thoughts were strong enough to break tide.

Step one was always the same. His behavior took a noticeable sharp turn from loud and fun-loving to a rather reserved prick. Constantly irritated at someone doing something as mindless as tapping a pencil or clicking a pen, Michael would either be stone silent throughout the day or would snap and very seriously get angry. It was confusing for his emotions to be in such disarray, but step two was almost always worse.

He couldn’t sleep. He tried fruitlessly, rolling around in bed as the dark thoughts consumed him until he gave up altogether, bunkering down in front of his laptop or the TV to take his mind off it. Step two was easier, in this way, because he was still able to escape from the horrifying reality, if only for a short time. His time outside of his mind kept him stable during phase two, but during three, however, his plan always fell apart.

To Michael, it felt like something more than just emotions that forced his skin to bleed during phase three. The razor provided him an easy grounding tool, and paired with the handful of pills he’d choke down, he was a cocktail of unhealthy habits. His appetite had vanished sometime during the first few phases, but as his body began to suffer, the pain on his mind began to let up. Usually, he could pull out of it by then, before step four, which was optional. Michael always had to remind himself that death was optional.

“What was that, Michael?”

“Hm?” Michael said, pulling his blank stare off of his computer and turning to Gavin, watching as the Brit’s face twist with confusion. “What?”

“What did you say? Death is what?”

Michael swallowed and turned away quickly. He couldn’t find the right words that normal Michael would’ve thought of to brush the question off. “Uh – thinkin’ about a game.”

Gavin looked bewildered and gestured to his screen. “You’re not playing a game. You haven’t even been editing anything, you’ve been staring at a new file for twenty minutes.”

Michael gave him a side-glare as he opened an already finished Rage Quit recording.

“You’d think he knows how it works by now,” Geoff said, grinning at the redhead over his shoulder. Michael was a little slow to return it, and even then it was half-assed at best. Geoff’s smile quickly shifted into a disgruntled frown. “I was only kidding.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michael said awkwardly, clicking on random sections of the video as the office descended into an uncomfortable silence.

He didn’t see, but he could feel the looks the others were sharing. His neck tingled.

“Who’re you pissed at?” Ray asked, leaning in his chair to catch eyes with Michael.

Looking guiltily away, Michael muttered, “Nobody.” He took a deep breath and tried to dispel the sudden tension in the room. “I’m tired.”

_Good excuse, idiot._

“He’s full of a little vin,” Gavin surmised, eyes shining. Honestly, Michael was not surprised that Gavin didn’t catch on that Michael was not simply ‘full of vinegar’.

Michael’s eyebrow ticked, but he continued to stare at his monitor, mindlessly skipping around in the video. Turning up the volume on his headphones, he blocked out Gavin’s irritating voice as the Brit jabbered to the other Hunters. He was uncaring as to whether or not it pertained to him, however, and allowed the conversation to flow over his head.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder a few hours of nothing later.

“Are you coming?” Geoff asked him expectantly.

A chill settled in Michael’s stomach as he answered automatically. “I think I’m going to go to my own place tonight.”

Geoff shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you want to sit alone in your bedroom while your boyfriends drink beer and very possibly have sex, have fun with that.”

“Yeah,” Michael whispered. “I will.”

They left around two hours later, bidding Michael goodbye before closing the office door. He let out a shuddering breath in relief, closing his eyes tightly as his heart silently broke. It wasn’t a sob - it  _wasn’t._ He still had control in stage one. He had to. When he didn’t, he ended up on suicide watch for four months. That had been the one and only time he’d purposefully cut with the intention of not waking up, and he vowed never to allow his insanity to overwhelm him again.

Though Geoff’s words did perhaps trigger a more intense depression attack, Michael could only realistically blame himself. The first fucking thing he was told when he started working at Rooster Teeth was ‘Have tough skin. You’re working in a small room with two other fully grown men, who are probably bored and sometimes a little drunk. I hope you’re able to take some ripping and also dish it out’ and here he was sitting alone at work, barely holding back tears of frustration and self-loathing. The insides of his wrists burned under his many wrist bands and leather cuffs, the phantom sensation of blood trickling down his arms and pooling in cupped hands making his palms tingle. He had to clench his fists until the feeling of his nails biting into his skin produced some relief.

He sat there for hours, the sun setting outside going unnoticed. Hunched over in his chair in the darkness of the office, mind racing as vivid images burst under his eyelids; florescent bathroom lights glinting off a fresh blade, newly opened and unused. It was almost too sharp – it sliced through his flesh like warm butter, and blood created such pretty dots on the white tile under his knees.

He would always cut during stage three. He was never strong enough to resist the sickly sweet temptation, always failing to hold himself together mentally, because even if his stable, perfectly sane mind knew that there was always an opening at the end of the tunnel, there was nothing he could do when he was down at the end of that pit.

When he finally managed to lift his dizzy head out of his hands, he could feel track marks of dried tears tightened on his skin. He hadn’t been aware that he was crying and felt ashamed of himself as he furiously scrubbed his cheeks, pushing away from his desk and standing up.

He raced out of the office after hastily grabbing his bag. It was almost one in the morning; any later and Michael would surely lose the will to leave the office at all, and instead curl up pathetically on the couch and wait for his boyfriends.

As he walked home, he rubbed sleeves of his arms, the tender skin feeling as it were burning. Scars from his old relapse were just fading, almost completely invisible against his pale skin. It had been long, a lot longer than Michael had realized, since his last episode. While he had yet to have been in a relationship with anyone, he’d still worked in an office full of five, lively guys and had managed to hide his depression from any of them. He always pulled out of it before it got too bad, or went on too long, and they wouldn’t notice. The occasional quiet video could’ve been explained away by just a bad night’s sleep.

But now was different. Michael was scared – something he hadn’t been before. Terrified that he was going to get caught, because it would mean the end of his relationship, and this weird, six-guy-gangbang was the only thing warding off the attacks. Or it had been – right now, it was just making it worse by amplifying his fears.

Michael shuffled inside, not bothering to turn on the light. True to Geoff’s words, he did indeed sit alone on his bed that night, a sharp blade pressed firm to his wrist, the pain sweet with the knowledge that his boyfriends didn’t miss him, wherever they were.

—-

Michael needed a hospital.

He sat bitterly in the waiting room, stemming the flow of blood from his wrist with a dishcloth, the closest thing he could find when he realized that the blood wasn’t going to stop on its own. He’d been woozy on the walk over, but he knew the wound was bad enough to warrant medical attention.

It’d been three days since he hit stage one. This was a record, even for him. His episodes varied in time, some only lasting a few hours, while the longest had been two days. He was neck deep in stage three after only two days, and his third was going downhill just as quickly. As he desperately tried to ward off the darkest of the thoughts, the cuts on his wrists got deeper, trickier to hide. It was as if his subconscious was attempting to draw the attention of his boyfriends to his ailing mind, a silent call for help. Michael stuffed it as far back as he could, but even when he was in the zone, he couldn’t seem to help where the razor dug in.

The slice currently marring his arm was by far the worst. Open and red at the edges, it seemed unable to stop gushing blood, no matter how fucking hard Michael pressed. It didn’t hurt much. Maybe it was because he’d been so numb while doing it.

“Mr. Jones?” a pretty nurse called, looking impatient. He stood, rickety on his feet, and followed her to a small station in the middle of the room, around him a multitude of injuries similar to his getting stitched up and cared for. He sucked in a panicky breath as he revealed the injury to her, watching her face for any signs of suspicion. He kept the cloth lingering to cover up the other small, scabby cuts.

“How did this happen?” she asked casually, pulling on a pair of gloves and reading a small sewing kit. Michael started to shake as she quickly disinfected it.

“Making dinner,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes closed as he turned his head. It didn’t hurt, but he didn’t want to watch her heal him – he didn’t deserve to be fixed. It was hard to fix something that was part of the problem.

“At five in the morning?” she said dubiously, fingers working efficiently to piece together his opened flesh.

“It happened a few hours before this,” Michael lied. “When it didn’t stop, I came here.”

“A few hours?” she said, glancing up. Her glasses sat low on her nose. “Are you sure?”

“Uh – maybe… I think so,” Michael said, losing his nerve. He was always a shitty liar.

She seemed to accept it. “That wasn’t so bad,” she said, pulling back to appraise her work. It was only an inch long, maybe an inch and a half, but it had been worryingly deep. It looked so much tamer now, and Michael felt panicky at the thought.

“Do you have insurance?”

“Ah, I have cash,” Michael said lamely, standing up and swaying.

“Whoa – we’re not done with you yet,” she said hurriedly, hands hovering around his shoulders as if to catch him. “How much blood did you lose?”

“Not much,” Michael lied. “Look, can I leave? I have work in a few hours –”

She gave a humorous laugh. “Right. Work. You’re formally advised not to go in. Get some fluids, take a rest, and sleep off the pain medication I’m about to give you.”

Michael nodded dumbly, barely hearing the words through the rush in his own ears. She stuck a finger up in a ‘wait here’ gesture before leaving to fetch a small bottle of drugs and a release form.

As Michael left through the front doors, he considered calling one of the boys to pick him up. He may’ve been a little off his rocker, but he couldn’t figure out which way he’d come from and he had no interest in being mugged. He’d walked here alone in the dead of night in his fugue state, but as he looked up and down the unfamiliar streets, fear kept him rooted to his spot. Besides, getting lost would probably be the worst in this scenario – everyone would come looking for him and they’d question as to why he was in this part of town.

It was almost time for work. Glancing at the clock on his phone, he grimaced. About an hour until Geoff rolled out of bed.

Michael could wait that long.

—-

“G-Geoff?”

“Michael?” Geoff said, surprised. He’d answered the phone expecting Burnie or Gus from work. “Why’re you up so early?” he paused, forcing the worry from his tone. “You’re coming to work, right?”

“Yeah, of – of course.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Geoff asked, a bit jokingly in the fear of scaring off the redhead. He put his coffee mug down on the table and stood up, anticipating a much-awaited plea for help. Michael had been completely devoid of any life or personality the past few days or so, and while they all knew something was wrong with him, none of them dared to push Michael into trying to talk it out.

“Nothing, nothing,” Michael’s shaky voice came through the speaker stuttered and slightly hoarse. Geoff waited anxiously for him to continue, dread building up in his stomach.

When Michael fell silent, Geoff couldn’t help himself. “Michael, are you okay?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

The question surprised him. Glancing at the clock, Geoff shook his head in confusion. “It’s almost six. Why aren’t you at home?”

“I’m in front of the – the library down on 4th,” Michael said hesitatingly.

 _Totally fucking lied._ “Okay,” Geoff said slowly. He could hear the others climbing out of bed to start their day, quiet giggles and low voices bouncing around in the hallway. Jack and Gavin had slept over, while Ray and Ryan had chosen to go to their own places. They had work tomorrow and Geoff knew neither wanted to be up all night and tired the next day.

“Are you coming?” Michael sounded nervous, as if Geoff would just say no. Scoffing into the phone speaker, Geoff rolled his eyes as he met the gazes of two very sleepy boyfriends walking into the kitchen.

“No, Michael, I’d just leave you there alone,” Geoff said sarcastically. He frowned when it was quiet on the other end of the line. “I’m coming now,” he clarified, taking the keys and jingling them next to the phone so Michael could hear.

“’Kay,” he heard Michael whisper before hanging up. Geoff stared down at his phone in worry, biting his lip. A hand smoothed its way across his chest, and he met Gavin’s bewildered gaze.

“What was that?” the Brit questioned, cocking his head.

“I’m gonna go pick up Michael,” Geoff answered. “He called needing a ride.”

“Did his car stall or something?” Gavin asked, pecking Geoff on the lips before pulling away to fish for breakfast in the fridge.

Geoff spent a few moments debating on whether or not to cover for the younger man, but decided that what Michael needed wasn’t lies and coddling. He needed a firm slap upside the head. “No, something’s up with him,” said Geoff bluntly. “He’s down on 4th. Said he was by the library, but I don’t think he reads all that much, especially not at six in the morning. What else is on 4th?”

Geoff could see Jack racking his sleepy brain. “There’s a library, a HEB, an emergency clinic, a food plaza –”

Geoff narrowed his eyes. Mind racing, he quickly cut Jack off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I got it,” he said, hoping that Jack wouldn’t reach the same conclusion that he did. “I know where he is. I’ll be back in a bit, with the idiot.”

He made it to the door before hearing the two others rushing up behind him, flustered and red-faced from hurrying. Geoff looked at them, grinning at their messy hair and crinkled clothing, obviously just pulled from the nearest floor and tugged on.

“We’re coming with!” Gavin announced, the two looking determined. Jack nodded, big arms crossed.

“He wouldn’t be stalled out on 4th Street at six in the morning,” Jack said. “Where would he be going? 4th leads around in a bend, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t picking up groceries. He was at the hospital, and we’re definitely going to hear why.”

Geoff sighed. Jack was naïve sometimes, but he certainly wasn’t dumb. Nodding, Geoff opened the door for them and they strutted out, obviously proud of themselves for convincing Geoff that they deserved to come, too.

The car ride was filled with sleepy eyes and tired yawns. Geoff drove quickly, traffic practically non-existent as he pulled up next to the hospital. The library was directly across, and he could see Michael sitting on the bench next to the bus stop, huddled into a small ball, feet pulled off the floor as he wrapped tight arms around his legs. His forehead was leaning against his knees and didn’t notice the car parked in front of him.

“What’s he doing?” Gavin whispered from the back.

Geoff rolled down the window. “Michael?” he called.

Michael’s head shot up, and glassy eyes stared at him, uncomprehending for a long pause. Geoff could see the realization dawn on him, brown eyes widening as Michael hastily jumped up from the bench, adjusting his sleeves and pulling his jacket tight against his body.

Geoff unlocked the doors as Michael approached, glancing to Jack and Gavin before the redhead pulled open the door and climbed in, looking sullen. He was forced to sit either in the far back or next to Gavin. Geoff was surprised he picked the latter.

“Michael, what were you doing out here?” Gavin asked as Geoff drove them in a circle, planning to go back to their house.

Michael looked alarmed in the rearview mirror. “Where are you going?” he asked in a tired voice. Geoff wondered if he’d slept at all.

“Home,” Geoff said flatly.

“Geoff’s home,” Gavin clarified when Michael just stared at the back of Geoff’s seat with a gaping mouth.

“Can – can you take me to my house?” Michael stuttered. Geoff glanced at him, watching as he shivered.

“Do you need a blanket?” Geoff said coldly. He felt physically pained to speak the words so uncaringly. His heart was feeling heavy and sunken in his chest, but he couldn’t baby Michael to the point of suffocation.

“No,” Michael answered dully. He sounded half-asleep.

“You look cold,” Jack pointed out, turned in the passenger seat to look accusingly at Michael’s curled up form on the seat.

Starting to wriggle his way out of his jacket, Jack was stopped short when Michael almost shouted, “No! It’s – Jack, it’s fine, really.”

He faded off weakly when Jack wordlessly shoved the jacket in his direction. At a sharp glare from Gavin, Michael took the bundle and shrugged it on, pale face covered with resigned relief. Geoff smirked at the windshield.

“Thanks,” Michael mumbled, burying his hands deep in the pockets. As Geoff watched, his van parked at a red light, Michael’s eyes fell closed almost instantly at the warmth surrounding him. His head dropped down towards his chest. Geoff made an absentminded note to himself to book Michael a hair appointment.

“Is he sleeping?” Gavin asked in a loud whisper.

“’M not sleepin’,” Michael slurred.

“Good,” Geoff said as he pulled into the driveway. “Then you won’t mind answering some questions? What the hell were you doing outside of the hos – the  _library_?”

Michael was quiet.

Gavin glanced nervously at Geoff. “I think he fell aslee –”

“I was at the hospital,” Michael whispered.

“What?” Gavin squawked. “Why?”

“Gavin,” Geoff warned, giving the Brit a pointed look. Michael was facing the window, carefully avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “Michael, are you on pain pills right now?”

Michael glanced at him, obviously surprised. He bit his lip. “Yes,” he said. “I got stitches.”

“What happened?” Jack asked gently. None moved from the car, even when Geoff pulled the key out of the ignition.

“I just nicked myself on the arm, it’s tiny,” Michael said dismissively. Geoff raised an eyebrow. “But it was deep,” Michael amended, looking away guiltily.

Geoff gave him a long, solemn stare. He searched the redhead’s face, taking in the bloodshot, droopy eyes, the messy, unbrushed red curls, and even the pale pallor of his face. His heart throbbed in pain. “Okay,” he said softly, unlocking the doors. “Let’s go inside.”

“I wanted to go home,” Michael mumbled as he sluggishly opened the door. He stumbled out and would’ve fallen flat on his face had Geoff not caught him.

“Careful,” Geoff murmured, feeling Michael’s muscles quivering under his hands. “Have you slept?”

“No,” Michael said, pushing his face into Geoff’s chest.

“You can sleep here,” Geoff whispered down to him, pressing his lips to the top of Michael’s head.

Michael seemed to melt in his arms.

“Thanks, Geoff.”

—-

He was swaddled in warmth, heat pooled around his body and filling every crease, every crevice. Even Michael’s insides felt warm, the blood circulating in his system hot and speedy. He sighed into the comfort, snuggling closer to the soft fabric around his face and feeling rather content. He hadn’t been this cozy in what felt like weeks.

A warm hand carding through his hair drew a subconscious hum from Michael’s throat, his scalp tingling with the light tough. He squeezed his eyes, recognizing the feeling as out of place and forcing his drifting mind to come back ‘round. He licked his lips and turned his face exposed to air, opening his eyes to blink at the ceiling.

Ray was sitting on the bed next to his head, mindlessly stroking his hair and staring at the wall. He jumped when he felt Michael shift under his touch and looked down, gaze softening as they met Michael’s warm brown eyes.

“Hey,” Ray smiled.

In response, Michael leaned into his touch briefly before stretching and sitting up. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ray smile at him, most likely because his hair was an absolute rat’s nest.

“What time is it?” Michael asked, rubbing his eyes. The skin under his right sleeve was tight and uncomfortable, and memories rushed in quickly after that, the realization that he’d slept here sending his heart into a flurry. “Where is everyone?”

“They should be getting off work right about now,” Ray said, glancing at his watch.

“Why’re you here?”

“We didn’t film anything today,” Ray shrugged. “I wasn’t needed.”

Michael nodded, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face to dispel the lingering drowsiness. He checked the pockets of his barrowed jacket and brought out the small orange pill bottle, tipping one into his palm and swallowing it without hesitating, desperate to feel the pain in his wrist ease. With each movement, the skin felt as if it were ripping apart again, and the stitches kept getting caught on the bandage.

Ray watched him like a hawk, even watching his throat bob as the pill went down. He grimaced and grabbed a glass of water off the bedside table. “This was literally right there.”

He offered it to Michael. Taking a long swig, Michael handed it back. “Thanks,” he rasped, throat still ravaged from him screaming his heart out hours before. Last night had been the worst in a while.

“Are you okay?” Ray asked, fiddling with a loose thread on the comforter. “Do you need to change the bandage?”

“N-no,” Michael stammered, stalling at the thought of pulling his sleeve up for Ray to see the varying array of red ribbons marking up the pale, almost translucent skin of his wrist. “Just the pills,” he lied.

Ray nodded, and Michael blew out a relieved breath. Ray almost always caught him when he was lying. Yawning, Michael threw the sheets off and slid from the bed, the instant chill making him wish he could curl back under the sheets.

“Where are you going?” Ray asked, following Michael out of the bedroom.

“Kitchen?” Michael said, raising an eyebrow. Ray was trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

“Do you want food? I can make something,” Ray offered.

“I’m not hungry, I’m just getting a juice,” Michael answered. It was true – his stomach had long since shriveled up on him, his appetite completely wiped out by stage two. Juice kept him energized, however. The sugar kept him going throughout the day.

Ray watched him with jittery fingers. “You should eat something,” he said. “You’re supposed to eat when you take pain pills.”

“It’s fine, Ray, calm down,” Michael said, rolling his eyes as he poured himself a large glass of OJ. “What time is it?”

“It’s noon.”

“Then why are the guys getting off soon?”

“They’re coming home early.”

“Why?”

“Because you had to call them to pick you up at a hospital last night!” Ray burst, red in the face. Michael looked at him, surprised.

“I only called Geoff, technically,” Michael said.

“Michael!” Ray shouted, effectively silencing the redhead. Shocked, Michael stood stock-still as the brunette tried to collect himself. “What’s wrong with you?”

His insides went cold. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been so… weird lately!” Ray exploded, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re distant and quiet and making everyone worry about you and you don’t even care! And then you call from the hospital and get put on pain pills and don’t even tell us what happened!”

“I told Geoff what happened,” Michael interrupted in a much quieter voice, heart thudding in his throat. He forced back the tears in his eyes.

“Nicked yourself with a knife,” Ray scoffed, looking near tears himself. “What was it really? Did you get into a fight? Because let me tell you – I’m about ready to punch you myself.”

Michael glared at him, but the words caught him off guard and made his dirty look waver. Ray rarely displayed violent tendencies, and his frustration was evident in his clenched fists.

When Michael didn’t answer, Ray gave an annoyed sigh. “You’re ridiculous, Michael,” he said sadly, shaking his head. Michael flinched at the words. He was, he was ridiculous. Ray was right.

Ray stormed from the kitchen, shaking in anger. Michael was left standing as still as a statue by the counter, his glass full of orange juice suddenly as appealing as a raw fish. Feeling as though he might puke, Michael set the drink on the countertop, staring at the floor.

“I can do this,” he breathed to himself. “I can make it out of this one. It’s almost the end. I can make it till then.”

Drops of water appeared next to his socked feet, but Michael was numb to the tears. He couldn’t feel them streaming down his cheeks, couldn’t feel the burn in his eyes. He could only feel the rushing of his blood in his veins, the loud roar in his ears as his chest shuddered.

Dragging his sorry ass back to the bedroom, Michael could find nothing to do but wait for the others to get home. He had no way of getting to his own apartment and it was too far for him to walk. Ray had disappeared somewhere off into the rest of the house, and as Michael sat on the edge, he uncaringly allowed the tears to drip freely from his eyes and onto the floor. He was just debating on how to ask Geoff for a ride when he heard the front door open.

“Ray?” he heard a voice ask curiously. It went quiet and Michael wondered what was happening. He couldn’t find the will to move his feet, however, and settled for just staring blankly at the wall.

Low voices murmured to one another, unintelligible but sounding concerned. Ray’s was not among them, and Michael felt his heart clench. They were worried about Ray – the brunette was still upset. Michael suddenly couldn’t understand why he didn’t even try to fucking  _comfort_ his goddamn boyfriend. He was so shitty –

“Michael?”

Michael jumped. Ryan was standing in the doorway, half in and half out as he stared at him. “Yeah?” Michael said belatedly. He wondered if Ryan was mad at him. The blonde was always so hard to read, but there was definitely  _some_ sort of emotion swirling around in the blue irises.

“Do you want to come out here?” Ryan said softly.

“No,” Michael said honestly. He couldn’t hold back the resentful laugh, directed at himself. That was probably the only truthful thing to leave his lips in the past five days.

Ryan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do you not feel well?”

“I feel fine,” Michael said.  _Back to lying._

“Then why –”

“I’m coming,” Michael interrupted, having to peel himself away from the bed. His throat felt like sandpaper. He walked by Ryan and was careful not to so much as brush the blonde’s skin.

The rest of the guys were all gathered in the living room, four heads turning in their direction when they entered. Michael felt hot and small under their combined gaze. Ray was looking at him as if Michael had personally stabbed him in the back. He certainly had reason to.

“Michael,” Jack said. It sounded warm, but Michael could see the bitter edge to his eyes as he stood up, arms outstretched. When Michael couldn’t find the muscles to move his legs, he wanted to just cut his fucking arm off; Jack looked confused and hurt. Michael was normally a very feely guy and now he was refusing even the simplest of touches.

“Sorry,” Michael whispered. “Geoff, can you drive me to my house?”

There was a short pause. Michael shriveled under their looks, accusatory and disbelieving that he could be so selfish. Michael couldn’t blame them, either. He was a piece of shit – he just wanted out of here so that he could properly punish himself.

Geoff was shaking his head. “Michael, if you just tell us what’s wrong, we can help you –”

“What’s wrong,” Michael said in a shaky voice, “is that I’m not at my house. Please just take me there.”

There was another silence, this time much longer. Michael stared at the floor, unable to force his gaze to meet the eyes of his lovers. Probably all ex’s now, if he were being honest with himself. He was half-expecting to be dumped right here, right now.

“Okay,” Geoff agreed finally, standing up from the couch. He glanced around, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room save for Michael. “Let’s go, then.”

Michael wasn’t even sort of surprised at the boredom in his boss’s voice. Geoff wasn’t afraid to hide his true feelings and was terribly blunt – Michael was almost thankful for that. He hated the faux compassion of which his boyfriends treated him with. It stung, knowing that they had to force every single little emotion.

Everyone started to move at once, grabbing phones off the tables and turning off the kitchen lights. Michael stared at them, confused. Geoff caught his gaze. “Everyone’s coming,” he explained.

“But –”

“Everyone’s coming,” Geoff repeated flatly.

“Nothing better to do than drive our boyfriend home,” Gavin said, a mocking smile on his lips. Michael’s exhale was sharp and stinging. Tears budded in his eyes as they all packed into the van. Michael was seriously beginning to wish the ground would just fucking swallow him up and help him disappear. The effort to do so himself was arduous and trying – but it was starting to look like a better solution for everyone.

It was utterly silent the drive home. Gavin played on his phone, looking bored. Michael couldn’t see Ray but guessed the brunette was doing the same. Geoff and Jack stared through the windshield, while Ryan kept glancing at him and smiling, and Michael couldn’t help but see it as a goodbye smile. He blinked at the feeling that he wasn’t going to see it again. He couldn’t find it in him to smile back, even weakly.

Michael’s hands fumbled with the seatbelt when Geoff rolled to a stop outside his apartment complex. He looked up at the rest when he heard the click of other seatbelts being released. “What are you doing?” he croaked.

“You asked for me to drive you here,” Geoff said. “You never said anything about us having to leave.”

“N-no,” Michael stuttered breathlessly, the air having been sucked from his lungs by fear. He was struck with the fantasy of running inside and locking the door behind him.

“Yes,” Geoff replied, unbuckled and climbing out of the car. Michael’s fingers were cold as he unlatched the door.

He was floating away from his body as he unlocked his door and let them in. He didn’t know why he didn’t just tell them to leave – the words wouldn’t come out. He couldn’t even form them in his mind. Fairly sure that they were going to break up with him and  _then_ leave, Michael figured it was fine and that they would leave on their own in a matter of minutes.

“Why is there no beer in here?” Gavin asked, obviously disappointed as he inspected the fridge. Michael was too busy snatching bloodied tissues from the couch cushions to answer, shoving them in his pockets along with the razor that had been sitting on the table.

“Why is there  _blood_ everywhere?” Ryan asked with disgust as he peeled a sticky dishcloth from the crimson-colored counter. Michael’s cheeks burned red as he grabbed it from his hands and threw it in the trash.

“I didn’t exactly have time to clean up,” Michael said bitingly.

“What happened?” Gavin asked, and Michael felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. Everyone waited with bated breath for an explanation, but Michael just shook his head.

“Knife,” he said, holding up a random steak knife. The end was luckily indeed a bit bloodied, but it was simply from collateral damage. It had been sitting on the counter by the small puddle.

“Can I see the stitches?” Ryan asked curiously. Michael just shook his head, cringing at the look of disappointment on the blonde’s face. He couldn’t count how many times he’s seen that exact same emotion expressed on so many other faces in his life.

“What are you doing?” Gavin asked him. Michael looked up from where he was watching his fingers dig into the skin below the bandage. “Does it hurt?”

“Don’t you have pills?” Geoff asked disapproving.

“He already took one,” Ray piped up, for the first time. He didn’t look at Michael, instead speaking to Geoff. The latter nodded at the words.

Michael waited anxiously, shifting on his feet. He was confused and a little concerned when they all took places in front of his TV, turning it on and flipping through the channels. When were they going to do it?

“What are you doing?” he said timidly. He’d yet to sit down, instead standing nervously behind the rest of them as they settled on the couches.

“Watching TV?” Geoff said as if it were obvious.

“Aren’t… aren’t you going to…” Michael’s words failed him and he lapsed into silence. The others turned around dismissively and ignored him.

“Hey,” Michael said irritably. They didn’t respond.

He could feel the rage building inside of him. “Hey,” he said a bit louder, fists clenched.

None of them even looked at him.

“Hey!” he exploded, loud and distressed. That caught their ears, and they simultaneously turned surprised faces to him. He floundered for a second under their attention before yelling, “Get out of my house!”

Geoff looked offended. “Why would we do that?”

“Because I don’t want you here,” Michael said between his teeth. He could feel the blood pulsing behind his eyes. “Get out.”

“You don’t  _want_ us here?” Geoff repeated, narrowing his eyes.

“No!” Michael shouted.

“What’s wrong with you?” Geoff said, sharing Michael’s volume. He stood up, looking furious. “What is your fucking problem?”

“Get out of my house!” Michael screamed, pointing to the door. His lungs burned.

“How about being an adult for once in your life, Michael?” Geoff yelled. His voice didn’t crack even once. “How about being fucking responsible for once!”

Michael blinked back tears. “I’m trying – starting with kicking unwanted company  _out_!”

“We aren’t leaving, Michael,” Jack said, but he was much calmer than Geoff, who was looking like he might be blown off his hinges. “Everyone can just calm down –”

“Fuck you!” Michael yelled. “I don’t need to be consoled – I just need you to get out!”

“Explain, first!” Geoff roared. “Explain what the hell’s the matter with you!”

“Nothing!” Michael said shrilly. “There’s your answer – nothing! Now fucking leave!”

Geoff stared at him in disbelief. He shook his head, seeming amazed. “I can’t fucking believe you,” he said breathlessly. “It’s like you aren’t even Michael anymore.”

Seething, Michael couldn’t find the words good enough to convey his feelings, so all he hissed out was a terse, “I quit. Now leave.”

There was a shocked silence as his words were processed. Gavin opened his mouth, presumably to say something along the lines of  _you can’t quit!_ or  _you don’t mean that_ but Geoff cut him off almost instantly, his face white and lips tightly pressed together. Michael had never seen him look so furious before and wondered if Geoff was angry because he had quit or because Michael was so rude to him. Maybe a little of both.

No one moved, however, even as the minutes ticked by. It seemed that they were waiting for Michael to take back what he’d said. Geoff’s eyes didn’t leave his face. He looked like he was about to punch the redhead’s lights out.

The final straw on the camel’s back came from such a stupid, simple gesture. It was just Ray – sweet, docile, loving Ray – shaking his head and bowing it. That was it. Michael stood shell-shocked as the foundation beneath his shoes crumbled. Ray had just accepted that their relationship was over. He could see the resignation – the fucking  _relief_ in his eyes. It was over.

He walked from the room.

Locking the bathroom door behind him, Michael bit down on his knuckles to keep the sob quiet as his knees gave out, sliding down the door. He didn’t want to cause them guilt if they heard his pathetic crying. He heard the others moving around but couldn’t tell if they were talking or not. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what they’d be saying regardless.

He tore off the bandage with vigor, revealing the pretty pink line dancing across the reddened, raw flesh of his wrist. The veins looked stark against the contrasting colors. The dark black of the stitches sewed the bright red edges of the laceration together, the blue and green shades of his veins like colorful liquids intertwining down his forearm.

He dug the razor out of his pocket. It was about the size of his thumb, one of those professional ones that was sharp enough to cause some serious damage. And that was just what Michael was going for.

Without even knowing if the others had left yet, Michael made three thin, hasty cuts across the side of his wrist. Blood beaded along the lines and dripped to the floor. Some of it stained his shoes. He couldn’t wait – he had to do it now, before he completely lost his mind.

He’d already made two more slices when the door he was leaning against vibrated with three knocks. He jumped and dropped the razor.

Jack’s soft voice flittered through the wood. “Michael?”

Michael drew in a rugged breath, his throat feeling raw and seared when he spoke in a gruff grunt. “What?”

“Are you okay? What are you doing in there?”

Jack sounded piteous. Michael squeezed his eyes shut but a tear got loose anyway and rolled down his cheek slowly. Jack pitied him.

“I’m changing my bandages,” Michael invented wildly, his voice coarse but surprisingly steady.

“Okay,” the bearded man said, clearly doubtful. “Do you need anythi–?”

“I need you to go,” Michael replied, eyes trained on the blood running off of his wrist and creating a pretty puddle on the ground. Jack said something else, perhaps a goodbye or farewell, but Michael’s muddled brain couldn’t understand the words. They sounded like gibberish, and soon Jack was walking away. Michael let out a sob when he heard the front door slam.

Screaming. He was good at it – it was literally his job. But this wasn’t the screaming he put on for the camera. It wasn’t even the screaming he did when he was angry. It was the raw, powerful, and horrendous screams that were forcefully dragged out from his throat, accompanied by body-racking sobs that seemed to come from the heart itself. He pounded his fists against any surface they could reach, which admittedly wasn’t much since he couldn’t move from where he was propped up against the door. It created quite the horror scene, the blood from his wrist smearing along the tile and the white cabinets, coating him in a fine layer of crimson. He finally calmed, at least slightly, as his spent body went limp against the door. He was shivering but he wasn’t cold. He stared lifelessly at his pale wrists. The left one was clean, but the right looked decorated and haunting. His heart slowed in his chest as he brought the razor back down to his skin.

The coating of blood on his body grew thicker and thicker the deeper he carved. He didn’t make any new cuts, instead overlapping each cut into one particular spot, watching with disinterest as the blood flow became thicker with each stroke. The deeper he went, the less it hurt, and he kept going until he was too weak to hold up the razor.

His bloodied, injured one was shaky and barely had enough grip on the blade to do its job. Michael wondered if he would even bleed out with just one wrist cut. He couldn’t even fucking do this right.

To get the job done, he had to prop up his weakened right hand and run the left wrist over the blade repeatedly, crying and sobbing at the pain. It hurt now –  _god,_ it fucking hurt – but he deserved it and more. As the blood surged out in spurts, he finally ran out of any and all energy, the blade lost somewhere in the growing puddle beneath him. He couldn’t even feel the wetness under him, his body having gone utterly cold and numb.

His lips were ice as he licked them, watching with hungry eyes as blood pumped from his skin. His heart was no longer his – it was theirs, and it was dying fast. He could no longer feel his pulse in his body, but he could see it splattering the walls. Peace settled over his mind, dimming the lights and muffling all sounds. He didn’t want to close his eyes – he wanted to watch, be a witness to his own purification.

He wasn’t even allowed that, and darkness wrapped gentle fingers around his neck and ripped his throat out.

—-

Geoff was so angry that he couldn’t even speak. His knuckles were bone white where he gripped the wheel as he waited for Jack and Ryan to get in the damn fucking  _car –_

“Are you ready to go?” Gavin asked dazedly from the backseat as Ryan climbed in. The Brit had been in a haze since walking out of the front door and it took a second for him to realize they were missing someone. “Where is Jack?”

“He – I…” Ryan shook his head. He looked sick. “Bathroom, I think… I dunno.”

“Checking on Michael in the bathroom,” Jack said as he opened the passenger door and got in. His hands shook as he buckled his seatbelt. “He said he was… changing his bandages.”

An eerie calm settled over the group as Geoff didn’t move the car. No one wanted to prompt the older man to start the engine, because they themselves didn’t want to leave the redhead alone. They were confused and hurt and worried, unsure of what to do. Geoff was angry enough to take off a horse’s head with his bare hands. But none of that explained anything and it was just frustrating for everyone as they sat in stunned silence. A pit in Geoff’s stomach grew larger with each second that passed, a bad feeling keeping him from pulling out of the driveway.

“He’s lying,” Ray suddenly said in a quiet voice from the backseat.

“He sounded serious about quitting,” Gavin said in a small voice.

“Not about quitting,” Ray said, shaking his head. Geoff glanced at him through the rearview mirror and his hands turned clammy at the Puerto Rican’s pale face. “He’s lying about the bandages. He told me they didn’t need to be changed, that he just needed to take the pills and –”

Geoff bolted from the car, throwing the door open so roughly that the window shattered. He heard the rest of them running after him, but he didn’t slow down as he raced up the stairs, slamming Michael’s apartment door open and screaming for the younger man, the dread in his stomach growing when the other didn’t answer. It was a far-fetched conclusion, but as the silence ticked on, Geoff was beginning to fear that his guess was correct.

He raced to the bathroom, jiggling the door handle. It was locked. “Michael!” he shrieked, pounding on the door. “Michael, you open this damned door right now! Fucking –  _please_ , open the door!”

Jack tore him away from the door and used his own weight to lean heavily on it. He stepped closer but slid in something wet on the floor. He heard Gavin puking in the background at the stench of thick, coppery blood permeating through the air. The floor was covered with a thick puddle of it, seeping out from under the door.

Without sparing Michael’s door any shred of gentleness, Jack reared back and slammed into it, the wood cracking under the weight as the lock gave and broke off, allowing the door to fling open.

Geoff would never forget the sight.

It was burned into his memory, even if he only took a millisecond to process it. He’d already been expecting something terrible, something horrendous, but seeing and imagining were worlds away in that moment.

Sprawled out on the tile floor was Michael’s lifeless body, utterly still and pale. His wrists were gaping, blood continuing to seep out and onto the floor. Thick bursts of the creamy crimson substance would squirt from the wound every time Michael’s heart beat, and Geoff thought he could see the pulse slowing literally as he watched.

The world tilted and shattered as Geoff fell to his knees beside him. Not just his hands, but his entire body shook, shock and hysteria locked inside his skin. He couldn’t hear anything, the sight in front of him translating to white noise in his brain. He didn’t even move, just sitting there as he watched Michael bleed out.

It was only when something smacked into the back of his head did Geoff fall out of his internal turmoil. His hands, somehow covered with blood despite having not touched a thing, started to move as sound bled into his mind. Screaming, crying, begging – Michael’s name over and over and over again. He couldn’t even tell who it was. Maybe it was all of them.

It was Ryan who’d bumped into him. His elbow had clocked Geoff on the side of the head as the blonde rushed in here. He was holding what looked like dozens of blankets and towels, anything, Geoff suspected, that he thought would be absorbent. Geoff, catching on quickly, gripped Michael’s cold shoulder and turned the man onto his back. His face was pale and lips blue, eyes half-open and filled with tears. Geoff had to tear his gaze away to look at Ryan, who was yelling something at him.

“Geoff –  _Geoff_! Cover that wrist and I’ll get this one. Jack, cover his body, wrap him in as many blankets as you can. He needs the body heat. Ray – call 9-1-1.” Ryan barked out the orders as if he was the one with military training. Geoff responded to the tone automatically, shaking hands struggling to grip Michael’s slippery arm but managing to finally still the appendage. He elevated it, vaguely noting the multitude of both old and fresh cuts, and started to wrap towel after towel around it, sobbing in frustration and anguish when blood just soaked through each layer.

He glanced at Ryan. “Stop replacing them,” he said in a trembling but firm voice. “If it soaks through, just put another one on top.”

Ryan nodded and started piling them on. His pile was completely soggy and dripping with blood, but he packed those on, too. Their jeans were sopping wet, but it went unnoticed by both as they worked. Jack was smothering Michael’s cool body with layers upon layers of heavy blankets, making sure to tuck in every nook and cranny, but Geoff was afraid that it wasn’t helping.

He heard Ray spouting off the address from somewhere in the living room, and Gavin was talking at full speed, sobs interspersed with the useless words. Geoff could relate – his inner commentary was just random noises and wordless gibberish. He furiously blinked back tears when they started to blur his vision, and it almost resulted in him missing Michael’s fluttering eyelids.

“Michael!” Geoff cried, and something different in his tone made everyone go silent. Abandoning his wrist, the flow mostly blocked anyway, Geoff leaned up to Michael’s head, a bloodied hand covering the redhead’s cheek. Wiping the other hastily on his shirt, Geoff peeled back an eyelid to see if he was just imagining it.

Michael’s pupils were blown wide with shock and fear. Geoff was crying from happiness to see that he wasn’t dead, but Michael was utterly unresponsive to him, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. He seemed to be unable to see Geoff.

“They’re on their way,” Geoff heard Ray say from behind him, his voice just above a whisper.

“Michael, Michael,” Geoff chanted as Ray took up the spot behind him, continuing to add towels to Michael’s bleeding wrists. Michael’s breathing was short and choppy – but he was  _breathing._

He was  _alive._

Geoff continued to chant the redhead’s name until the EMTs got there. They plucked him from their grasp and rushed him into the ambulance, professional and efficient. They didn’t allow any of them to ride in the car with them, but Geoff wasn’t sure if he could be alone in that metal box with his dying boyfriend and two strangers anyway.

Jack had to drive them to the hospital, as Geoff’s hands were shaking too much. They all arrived covered head to toe in blood, save for Gavin, who was looking positively faint. The doctors there approached them as if they were the patients and when Ray murmured  _we’re here for somebody_ in a shell-shocked tone, two extremely nice nurses helped them to a bathroom to clean up and then to the waiting room.

Years. Decades.  _Centuries,_ it felt, that they sat there. Numb and stunned, they didn’t talk to one another, staring at separate bits of the walls while the hospital moved around them. Other people in the waiting room came and went, and Geoff stared at them in blatant hate.

They got to go home with their loved one, while Geoff may’ve just lost his own, and all because of a stupid, stupid mistake on his part.

—-

After the first time, Michael had never wanted to open his eyes to this scene again, but here he was.

White-washed walls were his first greeting when gritty eyes opened, the lights dimmed for his comfort and a small vase of flowers saying hello to him from across the room. He recognized these scratchy and plain sheets anywhere, and the smell of antiseptic and cleaning supplies only solidified his conclusion.

He was in the hospital.

He exhaled slowly, the pressure in his chest lessening. He blinked back tears – tears of happiness. He was still alive. He was breathing and functioning, something any hospital patient could be jealous of. His head felt light and he couldn’t move his arms, but he was looking out at the world with two working eyes and the world was staring back at him.

The effort it took for him to tilt his head down made him want to go back to sleep. His neck muscles didn’t seem to want to move at all, but at least now he could look around a bit better.

He was in a secluded hospital room, his hands and arms tightly wrapped in thick bandages up along his forearm. An IV was sticking out of the crease of his elbow, the clear fluid probably preventing the pain from setting in. His memory was fuzzy and disjointed, but he could certainly guess what exactly he’d inflicted upon himself.

Shame, heavy and suffocating, caused tears to spring to his eyes. Though it wasn’t the same ‘beating-up’ he did while he was suffering through an episode, he was self-aware enough while he was normal to recognize that he’d seriously messed up. New scars probably lined up his arm, and the two deep ones would probably never fade. His last suicide-attempt didn’t, and now had to be hidden under his many leather bracelets, the sturdy material the only thing durable enough to hide the hideous scars.

And he’d just created two more for himself.

As he allowed his head to fall back against the pillows, his eyes drifted shut, and he mindlessly wondered if he’d at least done it over the old ones.

—-

The next time Michael woke, he wasn’t alone in his room.

He could almost cry with happiness like a little fucking baby when he felt the sensation of someone’s fingers intertwined with his. He hadn’t fucked up his hands too bad then. That makes him incredibly lucky twice. He could’ve hit a nerve and been unable to move his fingers at all.

He blinked open tired, heavy eyes to a dark hospital room, light from the moon cascading in through the window, casting a luminescent glow over the bed. There were a few sleeping lumps on the floor, and two were in chairs to his left. Michael could tell it was Ray and Gavin.

To his right, Geoff was asleep half-off and half-on the bed, his face pressed into the sheets as he clutched at Michael’s hand and butt on the edge of his seat. He was nestled against Michael’s thigh under the blankets, the other arm coming up to rest over both knees. It looked uncomfortable as hell, and Michael knew Geoff was going to have some serious back pains in the near future.

Ryan and Jack must’ve been the ones on the floor. He could hear their light, breathy snoring from here and smiled at the familiar noise, having been forcing himself to sleep without it the past week. They moved a lot in their sleep, which Michael knew wasn’t normal. They were most likely living through anxiety-ridden dreams, right now, as Michael listened.

Michael felt a pang in his chest at the thought of being the cause of all of this – the sleeping on the floor, in the chairs, everything. He knew the others cared about him, and his dumb mental condition had almost ruined it.

Hell, maybe it still did, but now that Michael was out of the funk and back on his feet, he at least had a fighting chance.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short epilogue to I Can't Think.

Geoff let himself in with an uneasy, but predictable pit in his stomach. He’s had a key to Michael’s apartment for a while, but hasn’t had to use it before. Michael’s usually over at  _ his  _ house. Geoff’s home was Michael’s home. Michael’s apartment was where Michael keeps his furniture.

The TV was still on. Geoff was glad for the noise, because the memories play like a cassette tape in his head, the screaming, the sound of slick blood on ceramic, the frantic voices all talking at once, all panicking–

Geoff turned the TV up louder and set his Walgreens bag on the living room table. He took his time unpacking it, because he was  _ really  _ not looking forward to this task.

He took the paper towels and the shitty, throw-away washcloths out of the plastic wrap. The bottle of bleach came next, on which he twists the OFF cap to SPRAY. Then the two sponges he didn’t think he’ll need, but he didn’t know how stubborn the bathroom tile grout would be.

Geoff stared at the wall. Took a deep breath and went into the bathroom.

There was just – so much blood. Geoff’s stomach rolled, twisted, did every sort of gymnastic move Geoff has seen in the Olympics. His skin erupted in goosebumps, palms cold and clammy as he gripped the handle of the bucket.

There was no avoiding the blood, so Geoff just stepped through it to get to the bathtub. He ran it cold and waited for the bucket to fill halfway. Turning the water off, Geoff took a moment to splash his face with it, breath some more, and then he turned around and brought out the washcloths.

It came off the white tile easy enough, but he’d been right about the grout. He unwrapped a sponge and poured bleach on the rough side. Scrubbing lightened the brown shade to a light salmon color that was slightly less nauseating.

The water bucket slowly turned pink, then scarlet as Geoff twisted more and more old blood into the bucket using the towels. When all of the wet blood was wiped away, he broke out the paper towels to get the streaks.

When the floor was done, Geoff looked at the literal bloody handprint on the wall. He had no idea whose hand it was.

When he tried to wipe it off, it just smeared into a giant red, blurry dot. Geoff stared at it.

Paper towel clenched in his hand, Geoff punched the wall so hard his hand went through it.

\---

The doctor was friendly and cordial, but passive when she asked for an explanation – and not just an explanation of that night’s events. No, she wanted details, starting from when Michael first started acting strange to the fight that nearly ended his life.

After looking around at his family, Geoff took a deep breath and started talking.

She took everything in stride, with the occasional interruptive question for clarification, and made notes on a clean, crisp clipboard with the label ‘MICHAEL V. JONES’ plastered on the top. Geoff stared at it, that label, instead of the doctor – whose name he’d already forgotten – because he’d never have thought, never would’ve even imagined—

He trailed off without noticing, but the doctor nodded and slid her pen into her lab coat. “Thank you, Mr. Ramsey. You gave me everything I needed to make an informal diagnosis, but we’ll need to talk to Mr. Jones himself to get a more conclusive answer.”

“There’s something wrong with him, then?” Gavin said, voice dulled with exhaustion.

“Obviously or else he wouldn’t have—” Ray cut himself off there.

The doctor appraised the group thoughtfully before leaning closer. “I can tell you what I, as a medical professional, suspect, but this is not an official diagnosis. I believe he has Bipolar Disorder. We’ll need to speak to Mr. Jones more in-depth about his exact symptoms, and he is most likely not aware that he has the disorder at all. Many people go undiagnosed.”

Desperation coiling his tongue tight, Geoff fumbled for a moment before he finally managed to say, “Is there a treatment?”

The doctor pulled back and smiled – so genuinely that Geoff felt like his blood has warmed back up to a normal temperature. “Yes. Medication can level him out. It’s possible that he has Bipolar or Unipolar depression – I’ll need to talk to him about his ‘good days’ to determine whether or not it’s truly bipolar. Have you ever noticed any signs of extreme manic energy, where he seems abnormally happy, seemingly out of context?”

“He’s a pretty normal dude,” Geoff said, choking slightly because saying the words now, he felt like he was talking about a different person than the one they found bleeding out on the bathroom floor. “Never, like… weirdly happy. Out of place happy. Just happy about normal stuff and then suddenly he – well, you know.”

“That’s common in the Unipolar disorder,” the doctor said sympathetically. “Symptoms come on rapidly and they persist for a duration of time that completely depends on the patient. Treatment is successful for both Unipolar and Bipolar disorders, so once we pin down which one he has, we’ll start treatment right away.” She nodded respectively at him before walking back down the hospital hall, towards Michael’s room.

“Wonder if he’s woken up yet,” Ray murmured.

“I think they’ll be surprised,” Jack said. “Michael never sleeps very long.”

“He’s sedated, that’s different than just sleeping,” Ryan pointed out.

“Well no shit, Ryan,” Jack said with a half-hearted chuckle. “I just think his body is fine-tuned to wake up early.”

Geoff glanced at the time. “It’s nearly four A.M. I’ll text Burnie, telling him what happened.”

Gavin’s eyes cut to Geoff. “ _ All  _ of what happened?”

Grimacing, Geoff pulled out his phone. “As much as I want to for Michael’s sake, we can’t just keep this a secret. Burnie, Matt – we need people who know the whole story, whether Michael likes it or not.”

“Which he’s not,” Ryan said.

“Well, he doesn’t get a choice in the matter,” Geoff said, flat. “A s-suicide attempt is something an employer needs to know.”

Gavin swallowed at the stutter on the word ‘suicide’. “Technically, you are his employer.”

“Goddamnit Gavin, I’m not fucking suggesting we post a journal about it on the site,” Geoff snapped, looking up from his phone. “Michael nearly just died.”

“Technically, he did die for about thirty seconds,” Ryan said, and at the glowers he received, he lifted his hands and said, “Well, if he’s ‘back to normal’ after this – Bipolar episode, he’ll find that interesting. Dead for thirty seconds.”

There was a pause as they all thought about it and as Geoff tapped out a message to Burnie.

“Normal Michael will think that’s cool,” Gavin finally conceded, but his eyes are still red. 

“Normal Michael,” Jack repeated softly. His eyes fell downcast. Then he reached for his phone and said, “I’m going to google Bipolar Disorder.”

“That’s – don’t do that,” Ryan cringed. “You’ll read things that won’t apply to Michael.”

“I know Michael,” Jack said stubbornly.

“I thought I did,” Ray said quietly.

There was a long pause.

“I’m still angry at him,” Geoff realized aloud. His fingers clenched around the phone, unsent text still on the screen. “I’m still fucking  _ pissed _ at him.”

“It’s a disorder,” Ryan reasoned, but there’s no judgement for Geoff’s statement.

“He has a disorder, but he needs to be a responsible adult,” Geoff said, but he immediately remembered the same words he’d said to Michael that night – _ “How about being fucking responsible for once?” _

Geoff hated himself in that moment. It hadn’t been the right time – he’d only pushed and pushed an unstable Michael until he’d fallen off the cliffside. In hindsight, Geoff still didn’t know what he would’ve done in that moment, where him and Michael faced off in the middle of the living room, angry and hurt and mistrustful. Michael had been yelling – but it wasn’t anger alone. It was fear, panic, the impending fall into silent despair he’d been toeing for days at that point.

So Geoff had gambled, taken a guess, a stab at what he’d thought Michael needed, and the sacrifice had almost been Michael’s life.

“Are you angry at me?” Geoff asked neutrally into the waiting room silence. The question wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular.

“No,” Ryan was the first to answer. “You saved his life, Geoff.”

“I pushed too hard. I didn’t do for him what he needed me to do,” Geoff whispered, eyes glued to the unsent message on his phone.  _ Michael’s in hospital after accident at the house. We’ll need time off work, I’ll keep you updated. _

Geoff’s message was still unfinished but he stared through the words. Accident. An  _ accident _ . 

“Geoff,” Jack said softly, causing the other man to jump when Jack’s warm palm fell onto his shoulder. “Mental illness is hard to diagnose, and this is episodic from what I understand. We couldn’t have understood what was happening without Michael telling us.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Geoff ground out, “And that’s why I’m still angry at  _ him _ . But I can’t be.”

Ray and Gavin both scoffed at the same time. 

“Hell,  _ I’m  _ still angry,” Ray said, leaning forward in the hospital waiting room chair. “I’m pissed. I fucking – I fucking  _ asked  _ him what was wrong, like three times. He kept insisting it was nothing.”

Gavin pursed his lips. “Disorder or not, he needs to communicate with us. Otherwise – otherwise  _ this  _ bloody happens.”

Swallowing, Jack said, “I… I don’t think Michael  _ knows _ .”

They all stared at him blankly, too tired to try and guess his meaning.

“I don’t think he knows he has a disorder,” Jack clarified. “He wouldn’t hide Bipolar or Unipolar – or  _ whatever- _ polar from us. When he first moved here, he had ups and downs – well, mostly the occasional down. Maybe that was – was a sign that I missed. A sign I didn’t think was anything.”

“Even if that’s true,” Geoff said, shaking his head, “he hid his problems from us. We’re in a goddamn relationship – you can’t  _ do  _ that. It’ll ruin us.”

“Or ruin him,” Gavin said so quietly that Geoff nearly missed it.

Geoff sighed through his nose just as another, different doctor approached. 

“Mr. Ramsey,” he greeted succinctly, offering no handshake. “While he isn’t awake, you’re welcome to see him now.”

\---

Michael hated the bandages around his wrists. They’re halfway up his forearm and thick around his wrists. Distantly, he wondered what lies underneath, what ugly tattoos he’s inflicted on the pale, thin skin now. His memory was hazy – the IV in his elbow must be the  _ good  _ stuff. He barely felt his toes, much less his wrists.

He remembered some painful conversations. The doctor asking hard questions. Then his boys; Geoff first, because he claimed he had dibs but Michael knew it was because he felt the most guilty, and then Ryan and Jack, and then Gavin and Ray. Apparently the hospital had a two-at-a-time policy.

Geoff was – Geoff. He was angry, then apologetic, angry again, and finally he broke down and wrapped Michael in a hug so tight Michael couldn’t smell the hospital anymore, just the faint cologne and aftershave Geoff wore. It made him never want to let go, but his arms were weak and couldn’t hold on and Geoff was backing off far too soon.

They didn’t – they didn’t exactly  _ skirt  _ around the topic. During the second visit, Geoff calmly informed Michael that the doctors were optimistic about the scars – they would heal normally and not become hypertrophic. The ligaments and nerves were intact.

“I knew that one,” Michael joked limply, voice hoarse. He gripped Geoff’s hand harder – which is still kittenishly weak – to demonstrate. 

“There could be nerve pain,” Geoff continued, but he squeezed back. “You wouldn’t be able to feel it until they wean you off the pain meds.”

“‘N when will that be?” Michael asked, licking his lips.

“Not for a while, buddy,” Geoff said, voice soft. His hand released Michael’s, trailing up the bandages until he reached skin again. He stroked his index finger in the crease of Michael’s elbow, the touch barely-there but just as calming.

Michael sighed at the touch, eyes falling half-mast.

“How’re you feeling?”

It was a loaded question – on purpose, too. Geoff was asking about more than Michael’s skin, his physical well-being. He was asking after his mental state.

It’s the same words as when Michael had been lying, desperate for everything  _ to  _ be okay, but now, now – “I’m okay.” And the words were honest. 

“You’re okay,” Geoff repeated, not quite flat but not quite believing.

The door opened and Gavin, who is dressed like a goddamn doctor, in a white lab coat and fucking  _ Converse _ , shuffled in Ryan, Ray, and Jack. They look relieved to have made it into the room and shut the door quickly.

But Michael can’t get his mind off it, he can’t–

“Are we okay?” Michael asked before he can chicken out.

Geoff looked at him for a long time. The others froze.

The gray, hooded gaze is heavy. Geoff looked beyond exhausted – way worse than Michael did, for sure. His eyes searched Michael’s face, and Michael wondered what he was looking for. 

“They think you have a Bipolar disorder,” Geoff finally said.

Michael looked away quickly, but the heart monitor’s blip betrayed his anxiety. To excuse it, he mumbled, “I don’t like to talk about it when it isn’t a problem.”

“Well, apparently you don’t like to talk about it when it  _ is  _ a problem, either,” Ray said, keeping his voice low but clearly portraying his anger. His black eyes were cold, narrowed.

“Can we talk about what ‘it’ is?” Ryan said calmly and placed a hand on Ray’s arm.

They all looked to Michael, and it was the worst time Michael’s throat decided to close up. All of their gazes – they loved him, it’s obvious. They cared. They were scared, whether it was for him or of him, Michael didn’t know. 

“It–” Michael started and immediately choked up. He tried again. “It used to happen when I was younger, I’d just – feel like shit for a while, go through the stages. Happened less and less as I got older… hasn’t happened since we started dating.”

There was a long silence as the words hang heavy in the air like rainclouds. Finally, Ryan tentatively asked, “The stages?” 

“I don’t know,” Michael said quickly, desperately. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore – at all, ever. Much less while he was sitting in a hospital bed. “Like – I used to just be able to tell when I was starting to fall into – starting to feel shitty. I guess I was… out of practice.”

“Why didn’t you…” Ray’s voice came out angrier than he probably intended, because he had to take a deep breath and start again. “Why didn’t you  _ say  _ anything? I asked you – in the kitchen–”

“I don’t know!” Michael said, shrugging his shoulders as aggressively as he can. “I just – I don’t think normally when it happens! My brain isn’t  _ my  _ brain!”

“Hey,” Geoff said sharply, and gripped Michael by his biceps to still him. “Your brain is always your brain.”

“You gotta be responsible for it,” Jack added quickly but not unkindly.

“And your brain is just a little weird,” Geoff continued, rubbing his arms up and down Michael’s biceps. It was certainly the drugs to blame for the rush of emotion that made Michael’s eyes prickle with tears. 

“We love your weird brain,” Gavin interjected forcefully, frowning.

“Why did you never get treatment?” Ray asked, voice tinged with desperation. He stepped closer. “You knew something was – was wrong with you, when it happened the first time, didn’t you? This would’ve never happened if–”

“This would’ve never happened if I wasn’t a fucking idiot, Ray, I know!” Michael exclaimed and sat up to make his point. It made his head spin, and the IV tugged at his arm. “I’m thinking clearly now and I can see all the beautiful ways I fucked up – I see all the ways I could’ve fixed it, could’ve done things to never get to this point! But I just – I can’t  _ think clearly  _ when–when–”

“Hey, hey,” Jack hissed, making a shushing moment with his hands. “Let’s calm down. We’re not all supposed to be in here.”

“Then why don’t we talk about this when I’m released?” Michael demanded.

Geoff and Ryan shared a glance.

“What?” Michael’s stomach dropped.

“They’ve got you on a seventy-two hour psych hold,” Geoff explained. “That’s why I was here and haven’t left even though I’ve had to piss for half an hour. You aren’t allowed to be alone.”

“Seventy-two hour hold?” Michael’s voice shot up an octave. “The expenses–”

“Don’t fucking worry about the money,” Geoff snapped.

“But I don’t need to spend three goddamn days here,” Michael argued, sitting up straighter and feeling his skin pull with the IV line.

“You haven’t even mentioned the fact that they gave you a diagnosis,” Ryan said gently, blue eyes soaked in smothering compassion. He sat down at the foot of the bed and it was a sneaky move; it forced Michael to sit back further, lessening the tension of his IV line.

“You don’t have to feel depressed–”

“I’m not depressed,” Michael instantly corrected. “And okay, fine, just have them give me the prescription, I’ll fill it out, and we’ll be on our way–”

“You have to stay under supervision  _ here  _ for seventy-two hours, but they’ve already started treatment. You’ve been taking the pills!” Ryan said.

“I thought those were painkillers,” Michael grumbled, sitting further back in the bed. 

“That’s what the IV is,” Ryan said sweetly, holding the tube between his thumb and his index finger.

“Dammit,” Michael sighed. “Seventy-two hours? Nothing else afterwards?”

“They can’t legally hold you any longer than that, no,” Ryan reassured him.

“But we can,” Gavin said.

“But you can what?” Michael said, confused.

“We’re holding  _ you  _ for longer than that,” Gavin said with a step closer. “Geoff cleaned your, uh, your bathroom but it still smells like bleach, he says, and now there’s a hole in the wall.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at Geoff, whose cheeks had gone slightly pink.

“I’ll fix it,” Geoff shrugged.

“Why did you–?”

“You’re staying at home anyway,” Geoff interrupted loudly.

“How far into the seventy-two hour watch am I?” Michael demanded.

“You have about fifty hours left,” Geoff says and stroked a hand through Michael’s hair. Michael closed his eyes and leans into the touch.

There was a beep off to his left. Michael’s eyes popped back open.

Ryan was suspiciously closer to the IV dispenser.

“That was a distraction, wasn’t it?” Michael blurrily asked when his veins suddenly feel warm. Within seconds, his whole body was melting into the shitty hospital mattress. 

“When you wake up, there’ll only be thirty eight hours left,” Geoff promised and pushed back Michael’s hair again.

Michael looked up to glare at Geoff, but only managed a bleary blink before everything has faded into blissful darkness.

They’ll be okay, Michael decided.

\---

Michael wasn’t one for fast-food on an empty stomach, but he doesn’t protest when Jack rallies for What-a-Burger. Literally anything would be better than shitty hospital food.

He was squashed between Ray and Ryan in the backseat, with Jack driving and Geoff in the passenger seat. Gavin was sat – unsafely and uncaring – in the very back of the car, with no seatbelt and an entire bag of fries.

Michael was halfway through his second burger, smacking at Ray who was trying to wrap his bandages with napkins to protect them from the ketchup stains that were spreading through the car.

“Hey, Michael?” Gavin asked casually, craning his neck through the headrests to peer at the redhead.

“What, Gavvers?”

Gavin’s lips curl into a smirk. “You said you quit, so guess who’s back at starting salary.”

Michael smacked him in the face with the What-a-Burger bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY THAT'S IT. this fic is done. :)


End file.
